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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719239">Venery</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88'>Grimmy88</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dead by Daylight (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Canon-Typical Violence, Doggy Style, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Missionary Position, Rimming, Scenting, other characters briefly - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:13:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24719239</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For @LadyShrezkasTea on Twitter:</p><p>Dwight is going into heat, which he normally faces alone or nested with his friend and fellow omega, Jake Park. Jake has noticed he doesn't have an interest in any of the other alpha survivors... but he does seem to come back from certain trials with his scent reeking of excitement. Once he pinpoints which trials these are and to whom Dwight is attracted, he realizes why his friend does not act... so maybe someone should act for him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David King/Jake Park, Dwight Fairfield/Evan MacMillan | The Trapper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>382</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Venery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            The campfire heated his back where he’d turned away from its orange-gold light. A group had just come back from a trial and, judging by the quick look he’d gotten of them, it hadn’t gone well. Each of the survivors were cradling their mystically healed wounds, faces drawn and shadowed by more than just the dancing of the flames into which they stared.</p><p>            Dwight knew that plight. Whatever had them trapped here may have revoked their slashes and bruises and <em>impalements</em>, but the memory of the pain, the memory of a blade going straight through your core, wasn’t so easy to cast off.</p><p>            It was a selfish thing on his part to not want to look at them. He didn’t exactly want to watch the line of the trees, either. They all knew who and what lingered out there. Still, it was between one of the two and it wasn’t like he could avoid his future staring into either, was it?</p><p>            He hadn’t been chosen for the last trial, nor the previous one, and so the next would be his to survive.</p><p>            And those metaphysical wounds weren’t the only things that worried him. Though, of course, he didn’t want to feel the pain and terrifying anxiety of their probability. And they were probable, he was beginning to realize, and not because of his own ineptitude during the trials. No, this time it would be because of something out of his control.</p><p>            In several hours—if hours were real and not another conjuration for their benefit and torment—he’d go into heat. This wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last time, though he’d yet to suffer from it during a trial. It wouldn’t happen now, either, but it would be a close thing.</p><p>            It was something he didn’t understand. Why was it something out of his control? Why, in this realm of nightmare, this repetitious hell, did he still have heats? There was no longer a purpose to them.</p><p>            Dwight was the only unbonded omega left because the others had chosen mates. They got to spend those protracted hours hidden away, indulging in the inescapable pull of their hormones, lost deep in the respite of their pheromones, and indifferent to everything but the smell of sex. And yet, none of their unions resulted in pregnancy.</p><p>            So, why? Why did the Entity keeping them here let them retain their nature? Or should he be wondering why it forced them to? Would there ever be a way to tell? Were their instincts that strong to transcend death, or whatever had happened to them? Were they that inescapable? Or was this yet another form of torture for them to endure? Did it feed from this, too?</p><p>            But how could it, when it was clear that Dwight was the only one suffering?</p><p>            He suspected he’d never get an answer, at least not one that would ever satisfy him. He’d thought about asking his fellow omegas, but his anxiety at showcasing his vulnerability always caused him to hold back and hide away. Even from the people he’d begun to call his friends.</p><p>            Jake was one of those people. In fact, he was the one Dwight had grown closest to, even though the other man had been bonded to another for…for months, if such a concept was still possible. If not, then his friend had been bonded for at least four heats.</p><p>            Even so, Jake had been there for all of Dwight’s. His alpha, David, was arrogant and proud at best, but he’d been a good ally when it came to protecting his mate and by extension, his mate’s friend. That meant that the two omegas could nest together, which had allowed Dwight to ride out his heats without being accosted.</p><p>            Obviously, this meant Jake knew his cycle.</p><p>            Presumably that’s why he sat next to him, so close their elbows knocked. He let long seconds pass while he pretended to survey the tree line.</p><p>            “You okay?” he finally asked, voice soft so he didn’t disturb those who had been disturbed enough that night.</p><p>            “Yeah,” Dwight lied, just as low.</p><p>            The other omega saw it for what it was and rolled his eyes. He didn’t admonish his skittish friend, however. He decided to switch up his tactic. “Your heat’s coming up soon.”</p><p>            “I know,” Dwight’s voice sounded puerile even to his own ears. “So what? You’ll be able to help me again.”</p><p>            The other man sighed and brushed back the dark hair from his face. “Yeah, but you know mine’s not too far off.”</p><p>            “I’ll be done by then.” He didn’t like this conversation, nor did he care for the direction it was headed.</p><p>            “My point is that eventually we’re going to sync up,” Jake explained, ever the realist. “David won’t want outside smells in our nest. What are you gonna do then?”</p><p>            The other survivor drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, as if that would ward off the truth. When he opened his mouth to answer, he tried to sound as indifferent as he could. “What I did before: go hide and nest by myself.”</p><p>            “Dwight,” his friend sighed, dismayed by the answer. “That’s miserable… why don’t you just bond with someone and make it easier on yourself?”</p><p>            The question made something sour within him, something he’d felt since puberty and yet still stung now as it had then. He’d grown, scrawny and geeky, ripe for bullying and not much else. Not even the sweet scent of his pheromones had reduced the abuse. Not once had anyone looked his way during any of those years and beyond. Not once.</p><p>            None of the alpha survivors were different.</p><p>            He was sure some of them could become desperate enough, but he’d keep hiding himself away. Jake wouldn’t understand—he and his mate were attracted to each other—they cared for one another. Nobody cared for Dwight.</p><p>            “They don’t want me,” he said, and then, stubbornly added, “and I don’t want them.” His decision was final: he’d rather suffer through the blazing agony of his heats alone than lie under an alpha that had settled for him. That refused to look at his face much less kiss him.</p><p>            Nevermind <em>love </em>him.</p><p>            He almost laughed at that thought but was glad he didn’t for how wet it would’ve sounded. “It doesn’t matter; I’ve always known I wasn’t ‘prime omega material.’” And he wasn’t. He’d never be anything but a defect.</p><p>            “That’s not true,” Jake argued.</p><p>            He turned and gave a smile he didn’t feel. “I’m okay. Really. Don’t worry about it. It’s the truth and—”</p><p>            “No, it <em>isn’t</em>,” his friend repeated, tone stony. “None of it is.” At the other omega’s confused face, he explained: “You <em>do</em> want someone. I’ve smelled it after the trials.”</p><p>            Dwight felt the color drain from his face to coagulate down in his toes. “What?” he croaked, forgetting that any other word existed. There was no way he could’ve said that—could’ve known—not when he’d been so careful.</p><p>            But then, of course, if there was anyone who <em>would</em> notice, it’d be Jake Park. He was so observant in everything, that the cowardly survivor should have known. Still, he awaited his response with dread, wondering if he’d figured out <em>who</em> had managed to rouse Dwight’s interest.</p><p>            Wondering if he’d say a name that he’d forbidden himself to even think.</p><p>            “The adrenaline works us up and then—” Jake motioned with his hands and then shrugged. “Who is it?”</p><p>            The relieved sigh he had to swallow down almost choked him. The momentary panic melting away made it possible for him to relax, though. There’d been no real way for his companion to know. He hadn’t been in the last two trials Dwight had spent running from <em>him</em>. Running physically and mentally from the truth of his attraction. From such suicidal curiosity.</p><p>            “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried meekly.</p><p>            His friend responded with his own weary sigh. “Yeah, you do.” But, blessedly, he let the topic drop for the moment.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            It turned out Dwight had been right about the next trial. He’d felt the pull and had lined up with three others to answer it. The only consolation he had was that Jake had been chosen as well. He felt much better having the outdoorsman somewhere nearby, even if they weren’t always able to stay together. It was more dangerous that way, Dwight knew, but still, in this case, he wanted to be dependent.</p><p>            But that wasn’t easy to make a reality. He’d come to, alone and shaking near a farmhouse. By now he knew what he had to do—they all did. Unfortunately, so did their pursuers, and it hadn’t taken long for panicked screams and the echoes of rushed feet to fill the night air.</p><p>            Dwight kept low and to the shadows, trying to diminish his size and sound as he scurried along. It seemed to be working, if the distant yelling of others being hunted was anything to go by. He was ashamed of how grateful he was for the distractions which allowed him to creep towards one of the dormant generators. Not having to constantly look over his shoulder meant he could focus his senses on his surroundings. In this case it saved him from stepping directly onto a rusted beartrap.</p><p>            The problem was the mere sight of the trap halted him just as sudden and fierce as the teeth would have had they bitten into his leg. Even so, it felt as though the only pain he’d saved himself was physical.</p><p>            He couldn’t say the same mentally, not with the freezing dread that flooded his brain and chest. And it had to be freezing—it was the only thing that could explain the paralytic tremble that had taken him over. The creeping anxiety followed, worming through his veins, accelerated by his rapidly, dangerously increasing heartbeat borne of terror.</p><p>            <em>And only terror</em>, his mind admonished him in a harsh whisper. Because the Trapper <em>only</em> terrified him.</p><p>            “Dwight!” came a hiss from behind, jolting him, thankfully, out of his oppressive thoughts but also nearly ten feet out of his shoes. Jake’s hands settled on his shoulders, grounding him back down. He pressed his own hand over his heart. “Hey, shhh, it’s me. C’mon, we need to get that genny going.”</p><p>            Dwight resisted the pull, reaching out to stop his friend and point out the snare. The other omega nodded and guided them around it. They felt bad for leaving it, but they feared the sound would attract their stalker. It was risky enough to tackle the generators with how raucous the engine would be, they didn’t need to make any other sounds to tip off their enemy.</p><p>            Having two people made that din worse, but they worked quickly—or as quick as they could. Jake was far more comfortable performing the repairs and Dwight felt as though he was acting as their lookout more than anything.</p><p>            That may have proved the safest for how his mind was wandering. Not even the glances he cast over his shoulders could stop the internal tirade. He wished he could block out the thoughts. He wished he could block out the treacherous little twinge of disappointment each time the shadows were absent a muscular, massive figure and a white mask, seemingly drifting in the darkness for how stark it was against the night.</p><p>            He inwardly reprimanded himself because what was he thinking? How could it even be in his head? And why had it been there for so long?</p><p>            His mental chastisement was a distraction, one that caused his fingers to fumble and the generator to sputter as if in annoyance and ire at his mistake. His fellow survivor’s head popped up, brows furrowed.</p><p>            Fortuitously, a shrill shriek shattered the tense moment, concealing his noise.</p><p>            Dwight turned his head towards its place of origin. “That sounds like Claudette.”</p><p>            “Go help her,” Jake ordered, attention diverted back to his hands. “I’ve got this.”</p><p>            Either task was dangerous, but now that the killer had hooked someone he’d be heading for a new target. Logic said that would bring him directly towards their clatter. Dwight hated the way that made his stomach clench.</p><p>            He had to run from that feeling, cowardly as it was. Cowardly as <em>he </em>was, leaving his friend as bait, no matter that it had been offered.</p><p>            As before he hid in the dark, crouched low, cursing his lack of exercise and out-of-shape body for making the stealthy posture so difficult to maintain. Using what cover he could, and following the distressed whimpers, he finally found her, dangling and bloody and defenseless. He hurried to her, hushing her little sob of relief before winding his arms around her hips and lifting to ease her off the supernatural impalement. It was hard going, and he felt bad that she needed to help pull herself free, but he’d always been lacking when it came to upper body strength.</p><p>            Still, she didn’t criticize him for his efforts and he hurriedly followed her to the cover of a rock formation nearby.</p><p>            “You okay?” he asked, watching as she fell to a knee and set about healing her gaping, oozing wound. The omega couldn’t really help other than assisting in coiling the bandages around her, but just his presence seemed to boost her morale.</p><p>            When they finished she leant back against the stones and shuddered out a breath. “I hate that so much… thanks.”</p><p>            Dwight nodded. “We have to find Jake; I left him on a gen to come get you.”</p><p>            “Okay,” Claudette agreed, peeking out one side of their hiding place. “It’s clear over here…”</p><p>            He did similar in the opposite direction, hope sinking when he found that the same wasn’t true on his end.</p><p>            The Trapper stood, big chest expanding somehow intimidatingly with each inhale. His weapon, a jagged strip of metal resembling a machete, was clutched in a blood-stained hand. Upwards from there his arm was split by dull beams poking out from ugly scars. One shoulder had it worse with hooked protrusions, some of which connected to his coveralls. Dwight wondered, numbly and dumbly, how someone could do that to themselves.</p><p>            He was distracted from the self-mutilation when that white mask and its menacing grin tilted to the side.</p><p>            He must’ve made some kind of sound, because Claudette gasped beside him. “Dwight!” she urged, trying to pull at his wrist. “Come on!”</p><p>            His feet stuttered after her, distracted as their would-be killer followed, his big thighs moving with speed and purpose. Looking back at him was a mistake, for how he scuffed against the rocks. Claudette was panting in front of him, drained from her wound. Dwight was slowing her down, so he wrenched away from her grip and peeled off.</p><p>            “Go!” he called, knowing she’d have a better chance without him. And that he wasn’t the wounded one was made it all the more pitiful.</p><p>            Though her chances would have been better without him, her luck wasn’t panning out this trial. The Trapper stopped only a moment to look between the retreating figures. Dwight felt the dark eyes linger on him a beat longer, and yet, still, he chose to chase Claudette.</p><p>            The omega felt his stomach drop, leaden with guilt and dismay. He wasn’t sure he could help if they stayed together, but he did know the other survivor had less of a chance to make it off the hook a second time. So he stopped, looked around desperately and picked up the closest thing, a rock the size of his hand, to throw at the hunter.</p><p>            He missed, but the sound it made hitting the tree nearby stopped the Trapper. Slowly, menacingly, he turned to peer over his shoulder. Dwight tried to stand tall, to make himself a target, though he felt his posture shrinking and his legs shaking. He was grateful, at the very least, that he couldn’t smell the hulking alpha due to the distance between them.</p><p>            The killer turned and then took the bait, starting after him with a lurch. The smaller man wanted to crumple down and curl up against his fear, but he didn’t. Because he didn’t know what would happen if he did that. Because something had changed throughout all the trials he’d faced off against the Trapper.</p><p>            The first, petrified and confused as he was, had seen him getting caught, quick and mortifyingly easy. He’d been in agony, hoisted upon that hook, feeling his life’s blood seeping out of him. The Trapper had stood with him, staring at his struggle, sniffing the air. At the time the omega had thought the inhumane figure watching him had been inhaling the copper of his blood.</p><p>            The second time, he wasn’t so sure. He’d been clubbed in the back, though it had somehow been with the flat of the alpha’s blade, stunning him rather than splitting him in half. He’d tried clawing at the earth to get away, whimpering and begging. He had expected to be hoisted upon that gigantic shoulder, to be carried off and have the same experience of that first time, but his prowler had crouched down beside him instead. He’d squatted there and watched Dwight’s struggle, mask tilted.</p><p>            Just like it had tilted tonight.</p><p>            And after that, these trials had been the ones Dwight always survived. The rest, it seemed, depended on luck. But these? These it seemed like he was slipping by, and not unnoticed. Often, he’d look up and find that white face watching him from far off. When he was pursued, that weapon would auspiciously <em>just </em>miss his flesh, allowing him to escape.</p><p>            Even now, with his mind holding him up yet again, that big body just slowed its pace, approaching with tangible confusion.</p><p>            Dwight hated his own, so he ran from both.</p><p>            The Trapper followed him, and he was glad at least to have drawn his attention from the others. They had more skills than he did, and he had to trust that they were doing their best to secure their path back to the campfire. He just hoped they made it relatively unscathed.</p><p>            He veered off, forcing a route through the rows of corn, hissing as the stalks whipped his face as he ran. He could hear the footfalls behind him, but they were slow and accompanied by the soft, slicing sound of metal cutting through plant matter and the gentle thumps of corn hitting the ground. The field wasn’t a deep, inescapable thing, which attested to its supernatural state considering he’d grown up in the US and had seen his fair share of cornfields so deep he’d wondered if they ever ended.</p><p>            This one did, opening right up onto several hay bales, the first of which he ran directly into. It knocked some of the wind out of him and caused a pinch in his chest that he had to look down to catalogue as the points of his pens jabbing into the meat of his pectoral. With that squared away, he rolled off the prickly straw and surged around it to keep it between him and his attacker.</p><p>            The Trapper slowed his gait, stepping around the bale after him. When Dwight stepped left, he stepped right to thwart him, and so on and so on until they both remained, standing in place to stare at one another. The omega felt his throat tighten, felt his lips burn with a question he dared not ask.</p><p>            Yet again he wondered, how could he…? He wasn’t sure how he wanted to end that question and with the eyes upon him feeling heavier and heavier each passing second, he decided it was best to run from both, for as long and hard as he could.</p><p>            Somehow, in all this hard bolting, he managed to gain ground. He slipped left and then right, realizing with a little beat of hope that he’d lost sight of the lumbering man. He took advantage of it, looking for a hiding place and finding it in the old, red lockers perched near one of the generators.</p><p>            For long moments, maybe minutes, he found safety tucked away, his arms curled around himself in an attempt to calm his heartbeat. In an attempt to quiet his panting. Over these he could barely make out those pounding feet, tracking back and forth in search of him. Each time the sound diminished he hoped, though that was dashed by it returning all the louder.</p><p>            The Trapper knew he was there, and Dwight was surprised to feel an annoyance by that. Was surprised by the fact that he had the audacity to be irked. Maybe it was the nihilism this place imparted in them. Maybe it was something more that wanted him to rip the door open and be done with it.</p><p>            He got his wish, and the swift exhale of breath was half relief half resignation.</p><p>            The killer stood there for a moment, one arm outstretched from where he’d thrown open the door. The other tightened its grip on his weapon so that he could lunge with it. Dwight yelped and jerked his head to the side, though the metal would have missed him even if he hadn’t tried to dodge. He turned his nose to look at where it was lodged in the wood above his shoulder, that thick hand still tight around its handle.</p><p>            The other slammed to the wood on the opposite side, caging the omega more than he’d already felt.</p><p>            And then nothing. Dwight had shrunk into himself as much as he was able, chin tucked to his chest and eyes averted, filling the little space with nothing but the sound of his breathing. In that they were opposites, too. Where his was panicked panting, the giant man’s was deep, low, and unhurried.</p><p>            Perhaps he felt he had the time to stand and stare, but the survivor couldn’t fathom the reason behind it. He couldn’t fathom the indulgence, nor could he name exactly whose it was. Not with these unnerved thoughts soaring so quickly through his mind, one after another. Not with that muscular, alpha scent so close.</p><p>            And getting closer, yet.</p><p>            Dwight had to rely on his other senses because he kept his head down, knowing it would be better not to see the incoming blow. As such, it was more than shocking with his unpreparedness at what <em>did </em>come.</p><p>            The Trapper sniffed him, the sucking sound of it amplified by the inward curve of his mask.</p><p>            The omega jerked his head up, his astonishment outweighing his common sense.</p><p>            That white face was almost blurry for how close it was, mere inches away. It was tilted downwards, as if the eyes underneath it were scanning him, just as his scenting was scanning the pheromones Dwight had forgotten he’d been giving off. Then, instead of just leaning forward with his torso, the killer took a step, blocking the younger man completely from escape.</p><p>            No matter his reasons, the effect was immediate. Pheromones were easy things to ignore when someone was running for their lives. Dwight had caught whiffs of some of the other killers, most notably of the one in front of him. The others smelled of death and decay and blood. The Trapper smelled mostly of the last one, tinged with metals and coal and that masculine, underlying musk.</p><p>            He sniffed again and again to identify the factors and by the time he realized how foolish he was being, he’d gulped down enough to make him dizzy. To make him lean all of his weight back against that wood, to lean his head back and stare upwards at that somehow analytic mask as it tilted up and down, left and right.</p><p>            When it lifted, Dwight could see that the eyes, normally hidden by shadows, were brown.</p><p>            He was so lost in that fact, in their weight, that when he saw the hand lifted in his peripheral, he couldn’t think to worry. He couldn’t think of a reason why it shouldn’t be there. Why it shouldn’t be on his skin. Why he shouldn’t move towards it.</p><p>            Someone else recognized the danger if the horrified shout of his name was any indication.</p><p>            The Trapper turned, hostile and fast, immediately wrenching his cleaver from the wall. Through the slit between his arm and body, Dwight could make out Jake standing some feet away, his hands clenched in fists and brow creased high.</p><p>            The alpha spun the rest of the way, immediately giving chase and leaving the stunned man behind.</p><p>            “No!” Dwight called after them, dumbstruck and confused by what exactly he meant.</p><p>            After that he didn’t cross paths with either of them again. He saw Claudette once, briefly, heavily wounded and when she slipped between the corn rows, he didn’t expect to see her again. And he didn’t. From there he didn’t see anyone nor hear anyone. Not even their inhuman stalker.</p><p>            His fellow survivors hadn’t made it through the trial, that much was clear. So, deciding the generators were useless, Dwight ran, eyes affixed to the ground to find the exit that he’d ‘earned.’</p><p>            Because Jake had sacrificed himself for him.</p><p>            It was a sluggish run, bogged down as he was by that guilt. It was magnified by how immobilized he’d been within that locker. By the fact that a part of him wished the interruption had never happened.</p><p>            Especially when he could still smell the alpha so clearly it was as if he could taste the copper.</p><p>            The hatch always made noise, which was difficult to explain. To Dwight it sounded like a cavern, lost to time and yet now yawning and beckoning him to momentary safety. When he found it, letting the din drown out everything else, he dropped to his knees and peered into the darkness.</p><p>            He wasn’t surprised when he cast one last look around to see <em>him </em>watching from the darkness.</p><p>            He didn’t advance. He did nothing but watch as Dwight slipped down into the darkness.</p><p> </p><p>            When he awoke the campfire felt hotter than usual. If he was a fool, he would’ve chalked it up to shame, but he wasn’t and the shivering warmth creeping up from his gut erased from his mind all the apologies he’d wanted to give his friend. He limped away, turned away from the excess heat as if that could stop the sweat from beading down his body and making the fabric of his shirt stick to his skin.</p><p>            It took long minutes for Jake to join him. He was pale, a result of their failed trial. No doubt he’d gone to see his mate first, and for that Dwight couldn’t blame him. No, right now all he felt was envy.</p><p>            “Hey,” Jake murmured, dropping to a knee just beside him.</p><p>            “I’m sorry,” Dwight hissed, keeping his ruddy face hidden.</p><p>            His friend hesitated a moment. “What happened?”</p><p>            The suffering omega put his hands to the ground and curled his fingers into the dirt, thoughts whirring as he tried to alight on just one lie. “I-I froze up. My heat’s—and I froze up. Thank you, he was about to—” his throat clenched, cutting him off, making the excuse obvious. “He was about to hook me. I’m sorry he got you.”</p><p>            He tried looking out of the corner of his eye, but in order to make out actual facial features, he had to turn his head so he could see through his glasses. Jake seemed impassive, but his eyes were scrutinizing.</p><p>            “Come on,” he finally said. “We need to find a place to nest… I think I found a good place a couple trials ago.”</p><p>            “…I’m really sorry.”</p><p>            “Hey, you can’t help it, Dwight. I’m not mad, so let’s get somewhere safe before you can’t walk.” He put his hand under the smaller man’s arm and hoisted him up, though he made sure he had his balance before letting go.</p><p>            And then he led the way into the darkness.</p><p>            With his mind fogging, Dwight didn’t question when they went into and passed the line of trees. He didn’t question why David wasn’t following them. He didn’t question anything but whether or not he could keep pace with the brisk omega in front of him.</p><p>            He did his best, but Jake had to stop and urge him from clinging to the trees too often. The former office worker couldn’t help it, though. His legs seemed inept at keeping his weight balanced between them. It was only made worse when his middle tightened suddenly. A wave of heat roiled in his lower stomach, clenching the muscles in his stomach and thighs.</p><p>            It forced him to his knees, everything but the ground seeming so dark and unfocused.</p><p>            “C’mon,” Jake called. “We’re almost there.”</p><p>            Dwight lifted his head, spying the other man a few feet away. His knees followed, one at a time, until he was standing, shakily, once again. As he tried to catch up, he kept one of his arms wrapped around his spasming middle as if that could keep his cramps at bay. It didn’t. Nor did it avert the slow bead of sweat that rolled down his temple. He brought his free hand up to wipe it away.</p><p>            After it dropped away from where it could obscure his point of view, Dwight found his eyes focusing in on his surroundings. He knew this place, rusted and industrial as it was. Looming and oppressive in front of him stood the Coal Tower, tinted blue in the pale, faux moonlight.</p><p>            While any killer could hunt them in any of the trials, they’d come to learn that the places they were transported where ones from their hunters’ pasts. This one, he knew, was from the Trapper’s.</p><p>            “Not again,” he whispered to himself. Then, louder, he told his friend: “We can’t be here… this is—” But when he swiveled his head around to find Jake, he was nowhere to be found.</p><p>            Dwight swore loudly, shimmying himself into the shadows against a tree to crane his neck around. Then he cursed again, aimed solely at his friend’s stealth. The other omega was too smart and sneaky and <em>aware </em>for his own good. He must’ve confirmed his suspicions at the sight of the interaction in the locker. That Dwight had been practically sweltering in desire afterwards had confirmed it.</p><p>            He didn’t trust his luck, not after the earlier events of the day. There was also no guarantee the Trapper was wandering aimlessly in the thin woods surrounding the campfire. Honestly, Dwight wasn’t exactly sure what all the killers did between the trials, but he wouldn’t be surprised if some of them haunted lands that reminded them of their time back in the normal world.</p><p>            And if that was the case, he needed to move. Fast. His scent was on the air, puffing out from him with the gentle breeze that cooled the wet fabric stuck against him. It wouldn’t take long for an alpha to follow it, and he’d continue to be hunted so long as his pheromones weren’t mixed with more dominant ones.</p><p>            If he were caught now, though, he wouldn’t be fed to a hungry Entity.</p><p>            And that might be worse.</p><p>            He turned back around to retrace his steps. Problem was, he could only remember staring at Jake’s back. He hadn’t even had the coherency to realize how far they’d walked, to scent the way the air had condensed, to the way the lights had changed around them. So, he guessed and hobbled along in a desperate attempt to make it near enough the campfire before collapsing.</p><p>            The problem was every quaking step made him dizzier than the last. Every step made him warmer than the last. Every step made him wetter than the last until there was no doubt his heat was completely upon him for how amply the slick slipped down the inside of his thighs.</p><p>            One squirt was louder and more physical than the rest and he went down with it, falling against a tree and feeling a jolt of pleasure as he landed on his ass. He clenched his legs tight against it, which only served to deliver delicious pressure to his hardening dick.</p><p>            By then he knew his efforts were a lost cause. Above his own smell there <em>his</em> was, all copper and coal. He knew it wasn’t only his surroundings. He would never forget the way the musk had pervaded his senses earlier.</p><p>            He hated how he sucked at the air, as if he hadn’t gotten enough of it those hours ago. As if that voice whispering to him that he <em>hadn’t</em> wasn’t wrong and inappropriate. He hated how the heavy footsteps, finally audible above his drumming heartbeat, sent an excited chill up and down his spine.</p><p>            He shifted to see, whimpering at the filthy squish sound his body made.</p><p>            At the sight of him—all broad shouldered, weaponless and yet still so <em>powerful</em>—Dwight’s body started in reflex. He was used to being chased by this man, and he hated how warped and wonderful his mind made that sound. He understood the spike of fear in his gut but hated that directly after it settled his stomach seemed to detach, to float with whispery little wings up against his heart.</p><p>            Ashamed to have such a reaction upon seeing a man who had attacked him and his friends time and time again, he made one last attempt to run. Pitifully, he only made it a few feet before faltering again, clinging desperately to the large overgrown roots that had tripped him.</p><p>            The Trapper stepped to him then, his feet coming to stand in the former office worker’s peripheral. For long moments he stood there, so long that their breathing synced. Dwight wondered why the big man’s was so fast.</p><p>            He looked different now, and it took a moment to recognize why. He was still menacing, still pierced with that terrifying metal, but the difference was that now his hands were no longer red. It was the first time he’d seen him clean of his friends’ blood.</p><p>            The killer squatted, his downward motion swift enough to stir the air around him and cajole it downwards, forcing more of those pheromones upon the gasping omega. Dwight made a pathetic sound and tried to rise again, though he let himself crumple backwards in fear and submissiveness when a growl tore through the quiet night.</p><p>            The alpha’s warning was guttural, somehow laced with an unspoken command that Dwight gave into for how intoxicated and confused it left him.</p><p>            <em>Be still</em>. <em>Be good. </em>He obeyed.</p><p>            The Trapper shifted, the leather of his coveralls creaking with the motion. Somehow, it soothed the young survivor, foolish as that was when those big arms—seemingly bigger than his waist—planted on either side of him. The new position let the older man lean into his space. And yet again, he scented, but more purposeful and forceful than before. Dwight had to turn his face away and arch for how hard the mask pressed into his neck so that toothy gap, resembling a terrifying grin, shoved right above the seam of his neck and shoulder.</p><p>            Dwight shook under the snuffling, fingers clawing at bark so hard it hurt. He didn’t dare to move, fearing the ramifications, fearing the reprimand almost as much as he feared the voices inside him commending his stillness. <em>His obedience</em>.</p><p>            The voice and thoughts were an extension of his nature, ones he couldn’t fight for how heady he was. Never mind that the alpha above him was a murderer, twisted inside just as the metal sewn through his body. No, all his body felt was the attraction. The pull. The heat. <em>The potential for a mate.</em></p><p>            And his body <em>reacted</em>.</p><p>            He moaned, uninhibited, as a rush of slick slipped out of him. The tantalizing spice of it was immediate, seducing that face away from his neck and downwards. Dwight watched, chin tucked as the sniffing skimmed his huffing chest and his cramping stomach to pause above his hips.</p><p>            The moment the mask pressed to his groin the survivor arched with a whine. The Trapper must have taken it as his submissive acquiesce because those meaty palms grabbed hold of his thighs and shoved them open so he could smell between.</p><p>            And at that Dwight’s hands lifted, this time of his own accord, as if the opening of his legs had also opened the floodgates. There was no way for him to put any of that back, to deny the volume of need washing over them both. There was no reconciling <em>killer </em>or <em>mate</em> because his body and mind and nature only desired the latter.</p><p>            He touched his fingers to the top of that bald head, flinching when it got that mask jerking up to regard him. The alpha reached up to grab his wrists, to move him away from the craggy tree and lie him down gently in the dirt. From there heavy touches fell upon him, methodological and searching as they pawed their way down his arms and then back up his flanks.</p><p>            They seared over his chest and after a few vigorous tugs, pulled his tie free to toss it away. He felt the bunch of fabric as if he was going to repeat the disregard and send the buttons of his shirt flying. Dwight jerked his hands up to thwart him, head back and eyes clenched against the reality of undressing himself for a murderer.</p><p>            There was a thoughtful, maybe appreciative, grunt from the big man when he finished. He was quick to set upon the newly revealed skin, the coarse scratch of his calluses upon the soft flesh Dwight always kept hidden away made him squirm. When it trailed over his nipples, he arched.</p><p>            He was a little mortified when they moved down and squeezed at him, toying with the slight pudge of his stomach. Dwight felt as though he was being analyzed, and, just as so many times before, he feared the layer of fat he never seemed to be able to exercise away would cost him.</p><p>            But shouldn’t that be what he wanted?</p><p>            Shouldn’t he have retained his fear once the killer fumbled at his button and zipper? Shouldn’t he have been disgusted when his pants and boxers were worked down off his hips? Shouldn’t he have fought when that palm slid around his red erection?</p><p>            Shouldn’t he have felt anything but relief and excitement? Shouldn’t he have done anything but whimper and buck?</p><p>            The Trapper touched him hard, borne of dominance and curiosity. It was a puzzling mix, but Dwight couldn’t deny the pleasure it gave him. He couldn’t deny the incomprehensible pleasure he felt at being handled, so completely dwarfed in that bulky hand.</p><p>            He was leaking here, too, of course. It slickened the grip on his skin, made the jerking lewd and wet and good. And Dwight, with all his hormones overwhelming his brain and senses, spread his thighs as far as they would go while still trapped in his trousers so he could hump into the caress. He wouldn’t last long, but that didn’t shame him as it might have with any other partner. Instead it thrilled him, made him feel as though he were on display for someone who, for once, no matter who he was, had an interest in him.</p><p>            A part of him, the kicking and screaming part that had lost so long ago, was yelling that it was only for his body. And hadn’t he been so against that mere hours ago? Yet now it seemed such an insignificant thing with the high of carnality stoked by that musk.</p><p>            The Trapper stopped touching him for a moment, yanking instead at his trousers to get them completely free and stripping away his shoes in the process.</p><p>            Dwight remembered a time he would’ve hated to be so exposed so he couldn’t help but relish in the fact that he felt none of it at that moment. Instead of feeling shy about the thick softness of his thighs and hips, he was grateful for the way his flesh gave under those kneading hands. The way his ample curves jiggled whenever he released them suddenly.</p><p>            He <em>liked </em>it, and he knew this alpha liked it, too.</p><p>            One of his prodding hands slipped back, comically fast for how wet his thighs had proven to be, to find the source of his wetness. Huge as they were, the Trapper’s fingers had no problem sliding between his cheeks to rub over his opening. They had more problem pressing inside of him, which was remedied when the older man knocked at one of his thighs with his bare elbow.</p><p>            Dwight spread before he could remember a reason not to and his body swallowed one of the fingers in its entirety.</p><p>            He gasped at the lack of discomfort, at the pounding <em>need</em> that wove its way through him. At the knowledge that at long last he had another person inside of him.</p><p>            The second finger had to prod and stretch his muscle to join. Together he imagined they’d be a little wider than an average person’s dick, but the alpha working him was anything but average. Somehow his body found the idea of that massive size, hidden away from him for the moment, more appealing than worrisome.</p><p>            It was a dangerous thought for how close he already was, how worked up his body and how visceral his pleasure, mounting up and up with those rough touches preparing his body. And that word, that realization, that he was being opened up for the alpha, had him arching and spilling in thick globules over his stomach and those coarse fingers.</p><p>            He moaned, searching for purchase downwards and finding the killer’s arms. He patted over them, feeling warm metal under his touch and following it down to where it speared into skin. It added an odd, hot spike of desire to his pleasure rather than dampen his ecstasy.</p><p>            The Trapper released his dick only when he was sure he’d milked it dry, and to Dwight’s disappointment, he also pulled his fingers free. That white mask regarded both his soaked hands in turn. The semen he wiped onto the fabric of the omega’s shirt, bunched as it was under his armpits.</p><p>            The clear slick he brought to that fake mouth. Close as he was now, Dwight could see his real lips beneath it. Could see, even with the blue-tinged shadows around them, the way a broad tongue slipped out to lap the mess away. Watched it repeat the motion again and again.</p><p>            Dwight only regretted he couldn’t see the rest of his face—to <em>see </em>the alpha’s enjoyment of his taste and smell.</p><p>            And he did enjoy it, because that big body sat up from him, cleaned hands working free the clips of his coveralls so he could shove the leathery material down. The survivor whimpered at his urgency, and then again at the muscles revealed to him, darkened by coal or ash and lined with scars as they were. He wanted to run his hands over them, to feel the craggy differences.</p><p>            The omega had been right about the other man’s girth, though he may have cheated considering the baggy material of his outfit hadn’t even been enough to hide it away. His dick was proportionate with the rest of his massive body: thick and flushed with obvious veins that made Dwight wonder if he’d be able to feel the other man’s heartbeat through them when they dragged along his insides.</p><p>            There was a rush to the alpha’s movements then. He was eager to take hold behind Dwight’s knees and spread his legs so he could position himself between them. The survivor’s earlier wish regarding his muscles came true then with the way that big torso curved forward to maneuver the former office worker where and how he wanted. And how he wanted was his lower back propped so that his ass was angled and gaping at him.</p><p>            The Trapper moved in and pressed his cockhead to the spasming pucker. The speed of this, of their union, made Dwight’s head spin. Luckily, it seemed to land right because he put his hands on those giant pectorals and pushed. It was a weak effort, but not one that went unnoticed. It was not appreciated, that was for sure, and Dwight found his forearms encircled easily. He fought back against the redirection.</p><p>            The killer growled, both a warning and reassurance, but both were misguided. The insignificant struggle made his movements jerky, but he still managed, albeit clumsily, to get his fingers on that mask.</p><p>            “No,” he said, wrongly and then tried to swallow all the cotton lining his mouth to try again. “Your mask…” He hated how heavy his tongue felt, how leaden and uncontrolled just like his thoughts. Melding them together to form coherency was proving to be one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.</p><p>            The other was imagining his virginity taken without seeing his partner’s face. Without being kissed.</p><p>            The Trapper reeled from him in surprise, but when Dwight set insistent fingers on him again, he stilled although the puzzlement was palpable in his overabundant scent.</p><p>            “Take it off?” he begged. “Please.” He managed to lift it a few centimeters to spy the square shape of the other man’s jaw. “I want to see your face…” And somehow the words came easier then: “I want to see my alpha; not a killer.”</p><p>            The huge man did not respond, but he did not move as his covering was taken. Beneath it his face was lined with some of the same, smaller scars cut elsewhere into his body. Still, they didn’t detract from the fact that at one point in his life the alpha had been very handsome. Dwight didn’t find him ugly, but his features had, at some point, turned stern and severe, even with his lack of facial hair. Even so, the younger man’s eyes dropped easily to his lips, feeling oddly charmed at their bow-like shape.</p><p>            Charmed enough to seek with his hands and pull, to bend his body and crane upwards to obtain the kiss he desired.</p><p>            The Trapper didn’t respond other than shifting his face somewhat to the side, as if the affectionate action was completely foreign to him. Dwight wanted to change that.</p><p>            The alpha had acquiesced to the smaller man, and he must have thought that placating enough to push until his fat cockhead popped into the desperately twitching hole. The shorter man groaned at the swiftness of it, at the minute burn of it, at the way his ass eagerly adjusted and gulped down the thickness fed to it. His partner seemed to understand his limits, though, because while he sank briskly to the hilt, it was not in a damaging, uncaring way. Rather, it seemed to Dwight that his urgency was embedded in him as an aspect of his nature demanding he be the first, the <em>only</em> one inside the omega. To claim and stain and fill him so that Dwight’s scent would never again be only his own.</p><p>            And yet this was tempered by something. What, exactly, was something the survivor couldn’t fathom in his delirium, but his senses could feel it.</p><p>            That he’d been able to take off his mask to kiss him and to be taken on his back so he could stare up at the other man? It could have been impersonal; a savage mounting from behind that left him dripping and used and alone. But it wasn’t because the alpha above him allowed his hands to roam his torso, to clutch him as his body relaxed to pliability, to trace and map once everything felt hot and good again.</p><p>            At first he rocked into Dwight, a motion that made him aware of the publicness of their coupling. The dirt gritted against his back, staining his shirt as evidence he’d need to somehow explain away later. But that slow undulation wasn’t enough to sate the alpha’s need.</p><p>            Their union needed to be faster, rougher, deeper.</p><p>            The Trapper leant back, straightening his spine from where Dwight had encouraged him down. He used both hands to grip the smaller man’s thighs up and wide, providing his hips with the space needed. In the repositioning his length had slipped mostly free, and now he jabbed it back where he knew it belonged.</p><p>            He repeated that, again and again, rough and purposeful to feel the sucking warmth of the hole being so welcoming. Even Dwight marveled at the way pleasure overrode his system, made everything loose and slick. Made it easy to succumb.</p><p>            And the sounds. The deep, animalistic panting, no longer amplified by the mask, was hot on his face and loud in his ears. It was the sounds of their slapping that were the most deafening aspect; sloshing and filthy enough to make the omega wonder how it was all coming from him.</p><p>            The man above him, though, seemed to be relishing his moans more than anything else for the way his eyes were transfixed on the smaller man’s mouth.</p><p>            Eventually, when he realized he didn’t need to hold him in place, the Trapper skimmed his hands upward, perching one next to his head so he could slip two of the fingers of the other into Dwight’s mouth. There was the pang of metal and salt, but also, he knew, of himself. The width of those fingers stretched his jaw, made him drool and mumble his bliss against them.</p><p>            Then it moved to grip his neck, not to choke but to keep him in place while the Trapper pounded them to their finish. It seemed such a sudden rush, a steep and rapid climb to his orgasm in the wake of his last, but the stimulation against his insides, against his prostate, combined with the assault on all the rest of his senses prevented him from holding out. Preventing him from containing his howl of pleasure when it became too hard for the alpha to thrust because his own need was reaching its crescendo, exemplified by his knot bulging fat to seal them together. When it was too much to slip free of him, when it tugged at his rim and refused to move save for its rhythmic pulsing as the Trapper ground himself in deep to sow his seed.</p><p>            And that grinding, angled right over his sensitive glands and walls made Dwight arch, made him shiver, made him spill yet again all over himself.</p><p>            A big thumb passed over his pulse as it released him so the alpha could balance his weight over him, elbows bent and biceps tightened as his torso pressed in warm and close, not caring about the smear of fluids between them. Dwight’s arms moved before he could consult them, trying to tine around the older man’s waist. He was too broad for it, but the omega didn’t mind putting his palms to his back and his cheek to his chest to feel the scarring beneath both.</p><p>            Gradually, the alpha’s heartbeat slowed, a pattern he could both hear and feel against his ear but also deep inside. He knew the latter was the evidence of his breeding and his wanton body rejoiced in it. Oddly enough, so did his mind.</p><p>            It took long minutes for the killer’s rutting to diminish, for his girth to ease and slip free. Dwight was mortified when his hands had to be physically drawn away, and even more so when he gave a pathetic whimper when the Trapper left his body completely. It was perfunctory, the way he redressed and re-hooked. When he finished, he lowered back to his haunches and reached for his mask.</p><p>            The omega snatched it up first.</p><p>            The older man’s brow furrowed but he did not try to grab it back once his dark eyes took in Dwight’s pleading expression. After a moment he reached out to his discarded clothes instead and tossed them onto the smaller man’s chest. Then, in one easy, swift movement, he scooped Dwight up and carried him towards the nearby warehouse.</p><p>            The survivor had run through the building in some of his trials. Those times it had been full of boxes and odds and ends. It was still much the same now, save for the mattress propped in one of the corners. It made him wonder if the hunters were allowed respites of their own. As the alpha kneeled to drop him onto it, he thought on how they must have been very lonely ones.</p><p>            After he’d been deposited, the bigger man turned to go. The omega scrambled after him but his efforts were too slow and he was left there, gripping onto a mask that had once terrified him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>            Dwight dozed intermittingly, waking warmer and thirstier each time. Finally, he sat up to do something about it but found himself wrapped and trapped by at least three layers of sheets, each a different color. Under his hands he could feel more fabric and when he looked down, he could recognize random articles of clothing. Some were his, others weren’t. Whomever the latter had belonged to, they were practically soaked with the Trapper’s pheromones now.</p><p>            The alpha had made them a nest, all while his omega had rested from their first bout. Dwight was so busy marveling over it, smelling it, unabashedly rolling in it that he didn’t hear the groan of old wood. Even when he did, when he recognized it as heavy footsteps coming towards him, he wasn’t worried. No, he was elated.</p><p>            No one else would encroach on their nest and den. Not in the alpha’s territory. Not to bother or accost what, or whom, was now his property.</p><p>            It wasn’t clear where the water offered to him had come from, but he took it all the same and drank from it greedily. Sitting upright wasn’t easy for how sore yet satisfied his lower body was. While he guzzled, the Trapper maneuvered the items in their next, pushing some things aside for the new additions he’d brought. One he was placated, he stripped himself down so he could climb in as well.</p><p>            Dwight was sucking down the last dregs when the sheets around him were stripped away and replaced by a strong chest and thick legs. He leant back into the hold, letting the cup drop off and away from the mattress. He wanted to turn into the embrace, but callused palms immobilized him when they traced up from his hips, over his belly, to his chest and shoulders and down again. It was searching, appraising and now Dwight preened into it, undulating against the forceful petting. It was as simple as that, as simple as the attention to stir his desire once again.</p><p>            His alpha had already made his attraction clear. The evidence was buried deep inside him, and they both wanted to add to it. And the part of Dwight, the one that had felt stunted and bitter at the campfire, was soaring because of it, light and lofty right under his heart. It was foolish, but it felt good to be.</p><p>            Finally, he felt good.</p><p>            The Trapper hadn’t replaced his mask and the survivor tilted his head back to look at him. He reached out his arm, too, and smiled at the way the older man felt along the underside of it, tickling his armpit and then down his flank to squeeze the slight paunch of his belly again. Because that wasn’t a deterrent, he felt comfortable touching his smooth, hard jaw.</p><p>            He lingered there for long moments. “Can you talk?”</p><p>            The alpha sniffed at his hair and gave a dismissive grunt.</p><p>            “Will you?” Dwight asked. “Please?”</p><p>            There was no immediate response.</p><p>            “…Tell me your name?” he asked, voice breathy. “Mine’s Dwight.”</p><p>            One set of fingers slipped up over his collarbone to ghost where his neck and shoulder met. It was a message, one of intent, but the younger man dropped his hand to stop it, heart in his throat.</p><p>            “Alpha, what’s your name?”</p><p>            The lips in his hair moved. “Evan.” His voice was cavernously low, almost croaked which made sense for how little the man probably used it.</p><p>            Still, Dwight relished the two syllables and removed his hand. The alpha squeezed the miniscule muscle he had there and resumed his caressing and massaging before the touch turned more excited. Soon, it was so persistent that the survivor was rocking with it, eyes half-mast and body responsive.</p><p>            And all he had to mutter was “Dwight” against the omega’s scalp and his mind was, too.</p><p>            The killer moved him, guiding him to kneel and then drop naked on all fours in front of him. He concentrated on the offering given to him, teasing the softness of Dwight’s inner thighs and squeezing his ass cheeks only to release them and watch the skin jiggle. It didn’t take long for his slick to slip free at the teasing, trickling from his opening to wet his perineum and balls.</p><p>            Evan spread him open and, unsure, the smaller man propped himself up on his hands to look back. He wanted to see his alpha, to be overwhelmed by the size of him. And just as he’d thought before, positioned like this he felt exposed and impersonal.</p><p>            Until that tongue traced the liquid of his arousal back up to his hole where it belonged. Dwight figured it was hard to be impersonal slathering your tongue around someone’s asshole.</p><p>            The former office worker had experimented when he’d been alone through heats, of course, but no toy could’ve prepared him for the wiggling muscle lapping at the puckered skin or the globs of drool that tickled down from it. With a heavy gasp he had to drop to his elbows and then his chest, arms flopping uselessly down in the face of the pleasure coursing through him.</p><p>            Evan slurped at him, <em>into </em>him, and the omega’s heat rejoiced in the wagging, slippery little muscle. Shameless, Dwight moaned into the mattress, hips canting subconsciously. Had he not been so feverish, so desperate to be filled fat and leaking once again, he would’ve begged his alpha to keep going, to never stop. To taste him until he went numb from the sensitivity. But now they both knew what he needed so he didn’t protest when that mouth pulled away.</p><p>            How could he when that little tongue was replaced with his throbbing dick?</p><p>            The alpha rubbed its head over his entrance slowly.</p><p>            “Yes,” Dwight encouraged, “please. Evan, please.”</p><p>            He listened, bottoming out in that delicious, frictionless slide.</p><p>            The omega groaned, sagging down at the feeling of correctness that overcame him. The bigger man didn’t let him rest, however, hooking his fingers under the creases of his hips and hefting him backwards. Dwight scrambled to obey, to please his partner by forcing strength back into his arms. He held himself up, making it easier for the other man to maneuver and control his body so he could fuck into it.</p><p>            Any thought he had of the position being animalistic was washed away by the pounding waves of bliss hammered through him. Evan was able to thrust all the deeper inside of him because of the position and it sounded all the filthier. Not only was it wet, not only were those weighty balls slapping against him, but his body sounded as if it were sucking up his cock, as if his insides were making room for it to slam home over and over.</p><p>            The killer could also fuck him faster this way, making Dwight feel detached from the world, detached from anything except the intensity worked up between them.</p><p>            He welcomed the hands shifting up from his hips, grappling at his neck and jaw. Dwight parted his lips and bit on the fingers that found purchase within them. His alpha grunted his approval.</p><p>            With his back bowed, the survivor tried to keep his arms locked against the rough undulations. He knew he wouldn’t last for long, not with the tremble working its way from his ass and groin to infect his entire being. Still, he tried to be good and receptive. He wanted to be so good for his alpha because he’d been <em>treated </em>so good. He wanted to make them both <em>feel</em> it.</p><p>            All he ever wanted was to keep feeling it.</p><p>            Evan sensed his weakening muscles and took over like the dominant alpha that he was. His hands hefted, arms hooking under his partner’s shoulders to pull him back. Somehow, he balanced the survivor’s weight while continuing his claiming. It allowed Dwight to lean back into him, forced the thrusts at an angle that alighted his nerves.</p><p>            He tried to give a warning, but one particularly short jab caught him off guard, making him moan. The older man did it again and again until every movement was a purposeful stab against his nerve-lined inner walls. The younger man cried out, powerless to do anything but cast his eyes downwards as his cum arched out across their nest in arching spurts.</p><p>            Dwight gasped and let his head fall back, pawing at the arms holding his torso, needy and impatient.</p><p>            Evan didn’t keep him waiting, the swell of his knot unbearable in the sweetest of ways. With it lodged in place, tying them blissfully together, the big man released inside him, marking deep with giant, pulsing loads of semen. The alpha grumbled behind him, hands roving until the first waves of his extended orgasm had passed.</p><p>            Then, carefully, he lowered Dwight onto his front and rested his weight against him, mindful of placing too much upon his small frame. After a moment he hunched his back so he could press his nose into the survivor’s hair again. From there it tickled downwards.</p><p>            Dwight reached back to cup the bald head and guide it.</p><p>            The lips didn’t hesitate in touching to that spot. Still, the omega gave him permission by tilting his head and baring it freely.</p><p>            The bite stung, physically painful but somehow in tandem with a drastic spike of bliss. Only the way a bonding could. It was so sharp that it didn’t surprise the younger man when his cock jerked again, spilling more cum against their dirtied sheets. He groaned, fingers curled into fabric and body twitching.</p><p>            He didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so right in his life.</p><p>            The knowledge that he’d bonded with a killer, one that would be forced to hunt him again, wasn’t lost on his mind. Somehow it made their union more bittersweet than anything. Perhaps it was the knowledge of all the dark and uncertainty he’d have to face, both in the trials to come and with his discovery of this man. Or the man he had been.</p><p>            The sharing of his name, the gentle way he was lapping Dwight clean, and the care in the creation of their nest hinted at Evan being something besides just an alpha or just a murderer.</p><p>            He couldn’t say how else it would affect them beyond the fondness seeping into his chest. Beyond the rush of excitement, and not terror, that would take hold of him every time he saw his mate. Even with blood-stained hands and that white mask affixed, nothing could change how they felt now.</p><p>            Nothing could change their bond.</p><p>            He’d be conflicted once the others smelled him upon his return. He’d most likely be shunned.</p><p>            And yet he wouldn’t regret this.</p><p>            How could he when the hands on him, while rough, were also doting and tender? How could he when he’d been not only claimed but adored? How could he when the pleasure they shared was fiercer than the Trapper’s blade could ever be?</p><p>            He wouldn’t regret.</p><p>            And while he’d still fear, ensnared in this realm, suddenly it didn’t look so bleak. Now, unbidden, the thought that he had something to fight <em>for</em> fortified him. And the fighting would be for these hidden moments of respite. Moments of heat and passion.</p><p>            Moments when tortured souls could almost resemble what they had been once, long ago. Moments that made the horror of their shared purgatory almost worth it.</p>
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